


A new suit

by DiseasedBreeze



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Future State (comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest Undertones, M/M, Mentioned Noncon, blowjob, costume porn, handjob, mentioned underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiseasedBreeze/pseuds/DiseasedBreeze
Summary: Working with Slade was always terrible, more terrible for Dick than his team thought. They didn't know what memories still lurked, he hadn't told them. He was afraid if they knew what Slade had done to him, how he'd BROKEN him, then they would never trust him to fight again. He knew what he was sacrificing when he agreed to do what Slade wanted in exchange for his help. He just didn't expect it to be this bad. He's falling back into old habits, the habits he'd learned in order to stay alive as Slade's apprentice.Based on a comment made about his Future State 'Deathwing' suit combo'd with a bit of teen titans 2003 remembered trauma.
Relationships: Slade Wilson/Dick Grayson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	A new suit

The box waits on the bed, ominously sized so that Dick knows exactly what it is. He still hesitates, feeling that acknowledging it would mean accepting something he doesn’t want to accept.

“Open it.” Slade orders.

Dick bites the bullet and lifts the lid.

"Put it on." Slade orders.

"Slade, what the hell is this?" Dick asks as the uniform in deep blue and orange stares back up at him accusingly.

"I had it made for you. If you want my help you're going to put it on." Slade repeats himself.

"Christ Slade, we've worked together before without this...this." Dick says almost under his breath but he still reaches into the box.

The mask stares at him, so much like Slade's even with the touches of the domino mask worked into it. The bird symbol that spanned the chest was still there too. This wasn't a copy of Slade's suit in his size. This was a synthesis of both their symbols, Deathstroke and Nightwing together as one.

Dick feels a prickle of acid at the back of his throat.

From Slade this was probably a sign of respect to keep his mantle in the design at all. Slade had made it clear he wanted to cleanse Dick from even the secondhand taint of other hands. That he'd acknowledged Nightwing as Dick's rather than Batman's should have been a victory. This feels worse, like the mantle of Nightwing was being poisoned by Slade's own mantle. It brings up memories he'd tried to keep down.

His hands feel numb as he starts to undress. His heart screams at him to not to, to cling close to what he has made for himself and run far away from Slade. His head overrules it with the reminder Slade was their only chance. He could not run away from this.

He carefully lays down his uniform on the bed piece by piece with each part neatly folded, buying time before he picks up the first piece of the uniform Slade has given him.

The material has a much different feel and weight to it, light as cloth but undeniably stronger.

"It's an Ikon Suit." Slade tells him and forces Dick to pay attention to him while he's doing this. "Just like mine. It will store the energy of hits you take, amplify it, and release it on command. I had it made just for you."

Dick bites his tongue, needing the pain to keep the question in: what _else_ did Slade put in the suit; would it talk in his voice, listen to his conversations, puppet his body?

If he asked he wouldn't get a straight answer and even if he did he couldn't turn the deal down. The Titans needed this and that was more important than... Than...

Dick tastes blood as he clips the belt around his waist. It's perfectly sized to hold whatever he could need on this mission. His hands are subtly shaking as he pulls on the gloves.

Slade watches him like a hawk. Dick doesn't need to see his face to know the look of smug contentment that must be on it. Slade was a possessive bastard, and saw no greater proof that one was claimed then them being dressed in their master's colors. It was what he said when...when...

Dick realizes he has been staring into the open box for too long. The mask is the only thing left and it's empty eyes stare up at him with his master's face. No... No...

Slade's hand rests on his shoulder.

"Put it on or I'll put it on you myself." Slade's voice is soft but his tone is so familiar.

The acid rises in his throat again, this time touched with blood. Dick watches his hands move without him, pick up the mask and fit it over his face. The material is cool and light and breathable. Despite that his vision seems to be growing darker, like the sun is passing behind a cloud.

"There's a good boy." Slade's voice keeps the soft tone that fills him with dread. "Seeing you in my colors like this, it's very nostalgic isn't it?"

"...Yes..." Dick says with his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. Dread pounds on him in nauseating waves.

"Tsk." Slade clicks his tongue disapprovingly. The coldness of his voice makes a sick shiver run across Dick’s skin. "Would some manners be amiss? I have gifted you better protection than anyone else could have given you, at least thank me."

"...Thank you." Dick's voice sounds robotic in his own ears.

"Not like that." Slade's grip tightens. "Like when you were my apprentice."

Part of Dick starts screaming as all the memories flood back, as each horrible moment of being owned by Slade threatens to wash him away. His body kneels without him and his lips shape the words.

"Thank you...Master."

Dick's head spins, the pain of being back here, back in the place he only went in his nightmares, the place he'd never told anyone about tugs at him like an abyss. Under it is the deeper darkness, the part of himself that had never left this place pulls on him to succumb to it. He'd never escaped being Slade's apprentice and he never would.

While the part of him that was Dick Grayson screamed and screamed and screamed it was the dark part of him that reached up and unzipped Slade's pants. It was the darker part of himself that slips his hand into Slade's underwear and pulls free his cock. It twitches against his gloved hand, already growing hard, and only a tiny part of himself reminding himself not to throw up in a mask keeps him from vomiting at the sight of it.

Dick feels the familiar disgust at the sight of it even as his body rolls up the mask so he can press his lips to it. The familiar taste of Slade's skin is worse than the sight of it but he can't stop his body from following the remembered pattern, mouthing up and down the shaft from tip to base then capping the head with his mouth, giving it a sharp lick, then back to the base of the shaft to lavish attention on the balls. He's been trained enough in how Slade likes it that he's more familiar with these moves than some martial arts.

He can feel Slade's cock reacting to him, his master standing like nothing had happened between his master first teaching him this and now. The vomit is trapped in him, unable to rise up his throat while he was doing this. His knees hurt and no... God no...He can't do this again.

Except he can and he is.

All it had taken Slade was a uniform and all Dick had to do was put it on. That was the choice he'd made, he'd chosen to do this to himself. He _chose._

"Enough." Slade orders.

He tilts his apprentices face up enough to force Dick to look at him. The look on his master's face chills him. There's lust there, and possessiveness, but also something far, far more sinister.

The crying part of him curls up and tries to hide from it.

A quick tap and Dick stands before he remembers that he'd memorized that order. Even no longer kneeling he still feels weak and small and helpless standing in front of Slade.

The way Slade's hand rests on his shoulder is tender, for him. It does not distract Dick from thinking of his erection.

Slade presses his lips against Dick's unresisting lips, plunging his tongue in immediately to deepen the kiss. Dick kisses back as he's been trained to, as his body now remembers to do.

He can feel Slade's erection press against his thigh.

"Fuck, Grayson." Slade groans into his mouth. "You're too good like this. You suit my colors."

He continues hungrily devouring Dick's mouth while Dick has nothing to do but kiss back like he was trained to. The screaming part of him tries to pull away but it can’t escape his own frozen body.

He feels Slade’s hands roaming over his body, taking time to explore every curve on his apprentice in this suit before settling over his ass and squeezing. Dick’s eyes squeeze shut behind the mask. Run! The voice in his head is screaming, Run, don’t let him do this to you, not again, you promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. The voice sounds like himself, back when he was Robin.

Back when this had last happened.

The darker part of himself whispers in his other ear. It reminds him of what had happened when he tried to run, was it really so bad to submit if it meant avoiding that fate? It was just sex, he can handle just sex. Think of your friends, the voice whispers, are you really going to let them die so you don’t have to do this.

Dick’s body remains frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. Slade stroking his shoulders feels like every touch is electrocuting him, but he still finds himself leaning into it, accepting it, even enjoying how familiar it feels.

Acceptance is a cold comfort but it’s a comfort nonetheless.

Slade notices his submission, his touches grow more tender but more confident. He’s saying without speaking that he knows Dick isn’t the same frightened boy he’d been when Slade made him his apprentice and he acknowledges he’s grown. Like the suit it feels more like corruption than respect, that Deathstroke’s diseased claws will dig into everything he made and corrupt it into something that was his.

“There’s a good boy.” Slade whispers in his ear. “That’s my precious, precious boy. I am so proud of you, son.”

He strokes Dick’s cheek through the mask.

"Get on the bed and show me that ass." Slade orders in the same soft and loving tone.

Dick’s already moving to obey. His body locks up and his breathing comes faster. He can _feel_ Slade looming over him. His presence makes every hair on his stand on end. Slade’s hands glide along his hips and the suit peels away like a second skin.

Like it was designed to do.

Like Slade had specifically gone out of his damn way to demand his designer make this a feature of the suit just so if he ever got Dick to wear it he could fuck him. Slade fingers grip his hips and give his ass a playful smack.

“You’ve really grown.” Slade says playfully. “Especially down here.’

The dread gets so much worse.

Dick would prefer to be raped, coldly and methodically as if all that mattered to his master’s cruelty is what he wanted to do with him. Slade flirting, like this was a normal romantic encounter was worse. He could handle being taken by a monster and he had, he’d hidden that deep dark part of himself deep down inside. Slade putting a human face over his cruelty just made his cruelty worse.

“Roll over, let me get a look at you.” Slade orders him. “I want to see your face.”

I’m wearing a mask, the screaming part of him screams at Slade, I’m wearing a mask because you wanted me to!

His body moves anyway and Slade’s fond smile is sickening. He cups Dick’s cheek through the mask and gives him a brief kiss.

“Look at you, my perfect, perfect little soldier. You’re everything you were meant to be.”

Slade’s hand dips between his legs and Dick suddenly realizes that he’s gotten hard. He feels disgusted in himself even as his cock reacts to Slade’s touch. A sound leaves him, a vague little squeak of a sound that could mean anything.

“Shush, shush, let me take care of you.” Slade whispers and wraps his hand around Dick’s shaft. His back arches and he forces down a moan. “There’s a good boy.” Slade’s hand moves on his shaft and, damn it, it was good. He felt good.

Dick’s fingers tighten on the sheets as Slade kisses him again and he does his best to reciprocate but he’s distracted by the feeling of Slade’s hands on his shaft.

Slade hadn’t been much concerned with whether his apprentice came or not, but sometimes when he was particularly proud he showed his apprentice more attention and made sure he came. Dick had started getting hard out of habit, the dark part of himself hungry for the reward of his master’s attention. He hates that Slade touching him is genuinely getting him hard. Part of him genuinely wants this, is craving it far more deeply than the touch of anyone else.

He’s broken, Slade had broken him, and there’s no point pretending he had put himself back together if this was all it took to send him back.

Dick breathes out harshly and lets himself feel good. His legs part to let Slade get better access and he kisses his master in gratitude. Precum leaks from his cock head and Slade’s finger swipes over it, smearing it down his length. Dick groans as the pleasure grows in him stronger and stronger. He can’t hold back the moans and Slade shushes him, kissing away every sound he makes and going faster.

The swells and breaks as he cums over Slade’s hand. Slade smiles and chuckles as he wipes the cum off on the suit.

“That’s my boy.” He says fondly, grabbing his own cock and stroking it.

Dick is dazed and frozen, unable to move as Slade finished up what Dick started with his tongue.

“Look at me.” Slade orders huskily. “ _Look_ at me.”

Even though he knows Slade can’t see his eyes behind the mask he does. He stares directly up at Slade’s face as Slade pumps his cock in his hand.

“Say my name.” Slade whispers. “Say my _name_ pretty bird.”

“S…Slade.” Dick says hoarsely, the words catching in his throat as he has to remember how to talk. “Slade!”

“That’s it.” Slade grunts and cums over his face.

Dick closes his eyes before he realizes the mask has protected him. Slade pets his cheek fondly.

“There’s a good boy.” He tells him. “Now lets get started.”


End file.
